Taking up the Helm
by Styx-0604
Summary: A new threat, a new team. When the original six are killed in a mysterious attack, it's up to the next generation, their kids, to take up the positions their parents left them and go save the world. (Contains violence, bad language because it's a bunch of teenage kids, mentions of torture, minor character death & copious amounts of chocolate.) Next gen AU, I couldn't help myself :)


**A/N: Hello all! I would like to see if this gets any interest, as my last six publications have had very little :( This is just a little background info, so sorry it's a bit drawn-out. It won't be completely accurate and not in the Geographical division, but it's my take on the next generation. Well, enjoy, tell me what you think, Read & Review please!**

**-Styx**

Fairfield, Ohio

It wasn't often that James raided the fridge, but at that moment he figured he could make an exception. He had finished school for the day, and after two fights, a science test and an hour and a half of soccer; all of which he came out on top; with no lunch, some leftovers were probably justified.

"Hungry?" A quiet voice behind him enquired. Alexis. The one person he was properly scared of. It didn't help that she was his younger sister, but the question had held so much threat for a fifteen-year-old, it could make most veteran soldiers desert. She was still dressed in her uniform from school, her viciously red hair in an untidy braid.

"No lunch," he explained, mouth full of chilli. "Anyway, it's not like Dad's going to mind, you've seen how much he eats." And how much he cooks. Chris was the only member of the family that could make a decent meal without having to chip the blackened mess out of the base of the pan with a chisel.

"Did you miss me then guys?" the siblings whirled around to face their father. It was eerie how their parents could sneak up on them, walking without a sound. _It must be a parents thing_ James thought ruefully to himself. _It must also be genetic, because Alex can prowl like a cat. Completely silent._

"Hugely. And I can explain- I'm hungry. Got into a fight with Albie at school."

"Again? What'd he do this time?" And there was the mother. Natalie also had the ability to appear out of nowhere. James was certain they could teleport.

James shrugged it off. He just seemed to be a trouble magnet- but his ability to hold off three people at once was helpful. He had told himself that if it came to survival, he could hold himself pretty well. The fluency in four languages also helped. It was his stupid dream, but he thought he could, maybe, work in the 'intelligence' business. Which would be awesome.

He was brought out of his dream by his parents suddenly tensing and producing weapons from seemingly nowhere. Alexis looked decisively scared. That was new. "Nat, we've got a convoy. Approx thirty armoured vehicles. Probably more."

"Dad? There's nothing there. Just black dots. You can't say that's a convoy." Alex was staring out of the window, next to Chris, who was looking intently at the faint black marks on the horizon.

"Well, newsflash, there is. I have 20/2 vision. So just listen. If they see you, you're dead. As dead as we are. Go to our wardrobe- there's a knot in to back of the wood. Press just below it and you'll come to a safe bunker. Do **not** come out until you hear the helicopter. They'll get you to safety. All the answers you'll ever need are in that bunker."

"Dad, are you like, a spy or something?" James was scared now. This was not what he had expected the day to go.

"Kind of," That was Natalie. "Don't ask questions now. We'll come and get you once we've finished here."

"Come and… get us?"

"It's happened before, when you were three. We held them off then, at the old house, we'll do it again. When you're-" She was cut off by Chris screaming at them to get away. He had donned a Kevlar vest and had what appeared to be a quiver of arrows on his back. With a final display of emotion, Natalie pulled the kids into an embrace, before pulling out a pair of handguns and waving them away.

James bolted up the stairs, stopping only to grab his jacket. They followed their parent's instructions and came to a narrow passage between two walls, about a foot wide. He followed it down, trying to ignore the rattle of gunfire and sounds of a fight from outside. The passage led down past the basement, deep underground. A door slid open, completely at odds to the rustic reel of the house. The room inside looked like it had come out from a bad scifi film. A large desk filled with weird pieces of tech- James had no idea what they were expected to do. In one corner sat a firing range, with well-worn targets. At least, they were well-worn in the very centre. The outer rings hadn't been touched.

"James… do you know what this place is?" Alex sounded underconfident, worried, possibly the most contradictory to her attitude five minutes ago.

A voice echoed from the walls, startling both of them. "James. Alexis. Welcome."

Yup. Definitely a bad scifi movie.

Alex spoke first. "Who- What are you?"

"I don't think that is important. I am an automated artificial intelligence. You have heard of Stark industries, correct? I am similar to the operative system there, Jarvis. However, you have more pressing matters to attend to." The computer screens flared into life, and a recording started playing, aside files marked [CLASSIFIED]. It was their parents- but not exactly as the mechanic and graphic designer they knew. Both were younger, clad in black, and looked like the spies James suspected they were. Supressing a bout of wracking emotion, he watched in awed silence.

_Hey. This is probably one of the weirdest things you've ever done, but there is something you really need to know. Everything you take for normality is fake. A façade. Incorrect, a show, call it what you want- your reality is wrong. We're agents. I never thought I would say that, but yeah. Ex-Government agents. After the battle of Manhattan, you know the one, we had to be relocated. Made a lot of enemies, and even one of the most influential and powerful organisations on the planet can't stop rumour. So we were relocated. New home, new identities, hell, you don't even call us by our real names. _Natalie (Natalie?) gestured to herself, and then to her husband. _Natasha Romanoff. Clint Barton. No, we aren't married. We're the two missing Avengers. Bit of a revelation, right?_

James was so absorbed by his mother's words, he didn't notice when the files appeared on the screens. The recording continued, regardless.

_You're prepared for pretty much anything- from day one, you were… trained to be the best. So you can escape whatever happens here. Call this number- _A short phone number appeared on the screen, and Alexis started dialling it in- _tell the operator that lightning has struck. Then stock up on weapons- because you're gonna need them- and wait for a helicopter to pick you up._

Natasha stopped talking for a moment, and let the kids' father take over. _Don't wait for us. If we're compromised, don't come after us. Just get away._ The recording finished.

"So much for, I love you kids, or an apology." Blind anger, directed at nothing in particular, surged through James. The temptation to smash a screen was almost overwhelming.

Alex, always the more level-headed, was scrutinising the information on the screen. "This is serious shit. They wouldn't lie about something like this. We need to get out of this. I don't like this shield thing. It's…" She trailed off, leaving so much unspoken.

"So everything we know is untrue, we can't go back outside, like, ever, and now we have some super-secret-spy thing trying to turn us into assassins? Absolutely bloody wonderful." James never though that it would be like… this. Having kids as a fucking asset to your cover story? They weren't even loved. He was going to kill his parents when they got back.

_If they got back._

As if it could read his mind; and he wouldn't be surprised if it could; the computer-AI-thing spoke. "I can confirm that Agents Barton and Romanoff have both been killed." As if to make the situation slightly less strained, the machine added a polite "I'm sorry." Not that it made any difference. Alexis still managed to collapse to the ground, halfway between anger and sorrow.

The gunshots had stopped, to be replaced by the sound of helicopter blades slicing the air. Without thought, James ran back through the passage, strapping a sheath of what looked like throwing knives to his belt, and stood on the roof, trying to overlook the bodies that littered the floor, signalling the helicopter. A young woman offered him a hand, and he embraced it, uncaring what he did with his life.

After all, at least he still had Alex, right?

The shots, and subsequent screams behind him made him seriously doubt that.

~.*.~

Marrakech, Morocco

"Vous serez bein, ça va?" _You will be alright, ok? _The older boy's face was calm and serene. He would deal with this sort of thing all the time; what most people here saw as deadly, it was merely a small wound. Anyway, cuts to the temple always bled the most, and it wouldn't get infected now he had sterilised it.

The small child that had run onto the railroad looked up at him with trepidation, but hope was still there. Owen gently coaxed him to his bare feet, then assisted him back to his expectant mother. He assured her that her child was fine, in slightly garbled French- he couldn't converse in Arabic to save his life- packed up the medical kit, and began the trek back to the shared residence.

His relatively easy pace was disturbed by the outbreak of a pained yell from the run-down district in which he lived with his uncle. If- and it was likely- that he had been provoked… well, the consequences would be dire, to say the least.

Owen broke into a brisk jog, attempting to black out the disjointed screams, which were rapidly becoming strangled roars. He hadn't yet seen the green mass that would surely soon tower above the small redbrick houses that made up the territory, but he was assertive that he didn't have long to calm his uncle down before chaos reigned. And if it made Bruce mad, Owen doubted that his meagre control over _his _problem would be much help. He attempted to slow his breathing and heart rate before he encountered whatever had set off the Other Guy. _Two _invincible monsters with serious stress issues would be enough to level this area, notwithstanding any love they had for this place.

Upon reaching their home, the roars having dissipated greatly, Owen flung open the door, Swiss army knife blade out, prepared to take on whatever haunted their place. What he didn't expect was a middle-aged man brandishing some sort of bloodstained garden tool with three fine points. It wasn't an overuse of Owen's acute analytical skills to work out the weapon had inflicted fatal lacerations over his uncle's chest. Bruce's greying, untidy mop of hair and his practical workshirt was matted with blood, and as Owen watched, something in his eyes, the fundamental spark that fuelled the life, silently dissipated and flickered out like a dying lightbulb. The irate stranger, his work seemingly completed, now turned his attention to Owen, screaming at him, brandishing his makeshift arm in threat. The shout of "Tueur, meurtrier, diable, démon!" followed the stricken fourteen-year old through the streets. _Killer, murderer, devil, demon. _He struggled to keep the monster inside him from rearing his ugly head, instead focussing on running.

He didn't care where he went; nor where he ended up. Just that he had to get away, away from the killer, the walls now smeared with an dark shade of red, away from the empty eyes of the man who had cared for him, taught him all he knew, saved his life with the blood transfusion that had culminated in this second presence residing in his chest.

He could theoretically run for hours, fuelled by his 'Other Guy'. Theoretically.

The medical services found the unconscious form of Owen Carrick in the dust by the side of the road.

-.-

Room- Spinning-

Blurred vision-

Lungs burning-

Oh.

"Hey kid."

A crisp voice cut through his jumbled thoughts. Grudgingly, he opened his eye a fraction to acknowledge his addressor. A woman, probably… early thirties? Dark hair. Olive skin. Not a native judging by the accent, skin tone and odd leather attire. Owen tried ruefully to speak, but all that came out was a dry croak. The woman spoke again: "I'm Emily. I'm here to look after you, that's all. You had run for almost two hours before your lungs gave out… that's some stamina for a fourteen year old. But you aren't a normal kid, are you? Owen?"

Reluctantly, he shook his head. He could feel his senses returning to him, and the train of logical thought. Whichever way you looked at it, it was a good thing. Being in a hospital, was _not_ good though. The last time he was in here, he had awoken from the car crash that killed both his parents. And because he had a very _'specific'_ genetic code, his body would reject the typical blood types, he had needed a transfusion from Bruce. Hence the slightly smaller, less volatile green monster.

"If you think about it this way, you have no way out of this country. You have no money, no possessions save the clothes you're currently wearing- your house was burnt out by the killer, and your primary carer has been permanently compromised."

"You mean he- he's dead?" A mix of confusion and sorrow was rampaging round his mind, like the Hulk in a blind fury. He just hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"In a non-technical way, yes. As I was saying, we simply want to help you get out of here. Alive." Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper "Owen, there are people out there who would do terrible things, worse than anything you can imagine, to get their hands on a single drop of your blood. I can't promise you that if you come with me, no harm shall come to you, but I _can _say that you shall not be hurt through my people."

She sounded genuine, and her face seemed honest, though it was impossible to tell. If he was true to himself, Owen wanted to get away from it all, and if that meant returning to the US then so be it. He smiled slightly, despite the sincerity of the situation. "Thanks. I guess I don't really have a choice… whoever you are, I'm grateful."

Emily seemed to soften at the response. She murmured a quiet affirmation, then had a quick word with one of the hospital staff, who nodded and signed a form with a flourish. "You're being discharged, kid. Let's go."

Owen really didn't mind, as he was led out to face whatever tomorrow had in store.

And if today was eventful, the next month or so was going to be hell.

~.*.~

London, UK

Elliot attempted to appear casual as he strolled into the slightly run-down accommodation he called home. Not really even that. But it was warm, and there was a bed, which beat the cold of the frigid alleyways he haunted during the daylight hours.

He tried not to wince as his battered ribs screamed in protest, a real black mess coating his chest, not that he would want to admit it. Alice, the overly-chirpy woman who managed the desk, smiled at him, before her face morphed into an expression of abject concern. "Elliot, have you been in the cage again? Because you know, you could seriously get yourself hurt, kiddo."

"I'm fine, Alice. I can look after myself; I'm eighteen now, I'm not a kid anymore. Anyway, it brings in money-"

The receptionist curtly dismissed him with a flick of her hand. "El, we provide an overnight room for the homeless here at Centrepoint, not a medical service. I _have_ warned you that cage fighting will be your death."

Elliot sighed, exaggerating the roll of his eyes by arching his eyebrows. He had been living rough for as long as she could remember, save a couple of muted recollections of some large lab-like building. He didn't want to know.

He shuddered at the thought. "Thanks Alice. I'll live. May I?" The receptionist handed him a card. Not a credit card or the like, but a scrap of paper with the characters RM042 emblazoned on it in simple script. "Room oh-four-two. You know, in case you can't read."

He smiled handsomely and made his way up to the room assigned for him to spend his night. The stairs creaked, like they were in pain. _I'll give you pain_, he thought as he reached his room and opened the door, paint flecks floating to the ground like beige snowflakes.

He dumped his bag in the larger of the two rooms, and made his way to the bathroom. It was small; he could lie down and his knees would brush the wall. Without thought, he stripped his grimy shirt off to inspect the damage to his chest. It was almost painful to look at; an ugly purple mass that plastered his ribs. There were other minor bruises and scrapes too, but they were, really, unimportant. Elliot was physically strong; strangely so for someone that had neither a permanent accommodation nor a gym membership.

He returned to gently pressing the inflamed area, working out where the affliction was worst, and hissing softly in pain when provoking an unusually sore spot.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the silence with a harsh US accent. "Those are seriously impressive inflictions, kid."

Elliot tensed, quietly assessing the woman in the room. "Who are you? How did you get in? And why does everyone call me kid? For god's sake, I'm-"

"Eighteen. Yes, Elliot, we know. And you should be aware that the door is not locked. You should have done so when you came in: you never know which secret government agency could just… stroll into your room."

"Ha freakin' ha. Next you're going to tell me I can eat exploding trousers and ride on a unicorn to mars. And then meet up with David Beckham over Rubber Duck peace talks."

"Close enough, actually. But first, you're coming with me. I work for a US intelligence agency, known as SHIELD. It's an acronym, yes, the real name is too long, drawn out and boring. We want you to… not quite _work _for us, but come and have a look around for a while." She seemed confident, but they always did. Probably in the job description. "It won't be for long, and there'll be a higher standard of living than this wreck of a building. You can bring your stuff if you want." She paused for a moment, looking hesitantly at him. "Look, kid, I'll be in the foyer if you want me. You have ten minutes. We could show you your identity- I think you know what I'm talking about."

She turned on her heel and left, giving him one last statement before she left. "And we'll get those ribs sorted out. No more fighting to survive, no eating out from the bins behind the Pizza Hut. Ten minutes. Think about it."

The door shut with a light click.

_Who was that woman? What would she want with me? Maybe it's a government conspiracy. Probably. It's always a government conspiracy. She was talking about identity- the lab. And whatever the hell went on there._

_Maybe she spoke the truth though. Anything's better than this hellhole. Look at yourself kid. You have no home, no family, no possessions worth more than a couple of quid. You're hungry, you're tired, and it isn't as if you could go anywhere. Your life is a mess, you don't remember anything about the first ten years of your miserable existence. What have you got to lose?_

_But-_

_No buts. Just go._

-.-

Somewhere over the Atlantic

The jet performed some sort of terrifying death-roll as a hail of bullets stormed into hull. Elliot tried not to instinctively duck, trusting the pilot's ability to swerve around the projectiles. He was just glad the cargo bays of these things had seatbelts.

The woman, who had introduced herself as Agent Lewson, was firing from an open hatch. Elliot wasn't entirely sure what the weapon was- it was like a combination of semi-automatic rifle and crossbow, which fired grenades. He refrained from asking.

The pursuing plane exploded in a great fireball as one of Lewson's grenades hit it's intended target. She sat down next to him. "Sorry about that. Someone either really hates you, or thinks you're far too valuable to go to us. I think the latter. You want to know why?"

Warily, he nodded his head, not sure what would entail.

Six minutes later, he appeared a mix of surprised and horrified. "A… a Clone?"

"Yup."

"Captain America?"

"Yup."

"So the fire, where I escaped- it killed him, right? And the others?"

"You, kiddo, were the only survivor, save a cleaner and a lab tech. Say, 90% ish of the research was destroyed. They were one of the parties trying to get at the stuff that makes you different. The serum. It's entwined into your genetics, and they only had so much stuff to work with, if only the…don't be offended, but the…original was there. So you were born."

"Born?"

"Well. It's all relative, I guess. A lot to take in, huh?"

"Shit."

"I'll leave you to it."

~.*.~

Phoenix, Arizona

Leo was already aware something was wrong. Being half god has that perk.

His history teacher was leading him away from the main school and to the principal's office. He hadn't done anything- well, anything the staff could pin on him. He almost betrayed a smile at that, but the severity of the feeling at the back of his mind kept the alarm bells ringing. He fingered the leather cord round his neck- his dad, Thor, had promised him it would protect his from most types of physical harm. It was relatively useless- he was actually partially bulletproof, but it was reassuring to have it there.

The door swung open and the principal's face came into view. He looked haggard, and definitely worried. His older brother was also in there, a decidedly grim prospect. The underlying sense of tension was apparent, and partnered with the strained faces, hailstorm raging outside (a sign his brother was stressed) and a premonition of something ominous, Leo decided he didn't like it at all. "Principal Humphries, what seems to be the problem?"

"Leo. You may want to sit down."

"Is it something to do with my dad?"

Arion, Leo's brother spoke. "He's dead."

"What?" The assembled crowd nodded, painfully sincere.

"Your mother is also missing. I'm sorry, boys." The principal looked down at his desk. After several minutes of shocked silence, he continued "But your friend Emily here, will look after the legalities, and will look after you."

Friend? Never seen her before. The dark-haired woman gave Leo a beaming smile, and instinctively he pushed out his consciousness. He hated having to do this, but he didn't recognise the woman, and checking her mind was the only way he could be certain about anything.

_Hello Leo._

Bloody hell. Hadn't expected that.

_I know you can hear me. We have the answers behind your parents. I work for a government agency, and I'm not going to try and keep anything from you because we know about your abilities. You're probably reading me right now, huh? Can you reassure your brother if you can hear me. I also know about his reaction to potential threats, and it would be awesome if I wasn't clobbered to death on his watch._

Leo quickly passed a note to Arion. _She's clean and genuine. She's here to help._

_Thanks Leo. There are others like you- I'm sure you're aware of the Avengers? The adults have all been terminated. We think you're next. So it's for your protection that you come with us._

The woman smiled again and asked if she could have a moment alone with the boys outside. He waved his hand in affirmation. "Sure, go right ahead."

After reassuring his brother Emily was not about to abduct them, Leo launched into an insatiable attack of questions. Over the next ten minutes they learnt their father had been killed in an explosion at the apartment they lived in, albeit temporarily- the last house had burned down after Thor had accidentally blown up a microwave. The weird thing about the latest explosion was that it was clearly not an accident. Or even a small-scale microwave incident. This had been deliberate, meticulously planned, leaving no chance of survival, aside from the hammer that was left, forlornly standing on its own in a crater large enough to fit the science block in.

Seven other people had been killed in the blast; the whereabouts of the boys' mother was unknown. After much protesting, Emily had let the two demigods search the wreckage for something they could salvage. She had protested there was nothing there, but Leo had been adamant.

A flash of russet red alerted her senses enough for her to draw her gun, but the sound of laughter caused her to place it back in its holster at her side. Cautiously, she called out. "Leo? You OK there?"

A burst of laughter once again split the silence of the wrecked site, followed by a shout; "I'm fine! I want you to meet someone. It may come as a bit of a shock to those unaccustomed to it, but it's worth it."

Cautiously, Emily stepped forwards, to be greeted by what she thought to be a cat. Well, greeted was one way of putting it. The animal ran into her at a considerable speed, and as she tried to get up from the dusty ground, a wolfish face seemed to grin at her. And then it _spoke._ "Friend?"

Trying not to be startled by the unveiling of a talking fox, she affirmed it- his- question. "Friend… Lewson? You are?"

"I am lågia, Friend Lewson." The creature then proceeded to sweep itself into a bow, which was one of the oddest things the agent she had ever seen. She turned her comm on, open to the channel of her handler.

"Camargue?" A French agent, Jakob Camargue had been her handler for almost seven years. He was the most unflappable person she knew. This would be new. "You know you said to be prepared for anything? Well, I've got the clone, the assassins, the raging beast, the half gods, and now a talking fox."

"Animals aren't allowed on site. Is it, you know, Asgardian?" The agent's voice was level, as if he was being asked if he wanted a coffee.

"No freakin' idea," She turned her attention to the vixen on her stomach "Lågia, are you from Asgard?"

"I am of the Earth, Friend Lewson."

"Nope. This one's as normal as they come, apart from the seriously messed up vocal cords. Hey, Arion, quit trying to lift the hammer and explain our situation to this creature." Reluctantly, the tall kid trooped over to the animal and explained everything. "Camargue, we need a jet. Get the kids out of here."

"Affirmative, I'm processing that right now. Anything else you need?"

"A large glass of Scotch would be nice, but I guess I'll have to settle for a biscuit."

"Uh-huh. I'll see you later then, Lewson." The Frenchman signed off, leaving the confused agent to stare at the animal jumping up and down with glee shouting "Friends! New Friends!" and wondering what the hell she had signed herself up for. She guessed she could have been doing _normal_ ops, but Normal had been thrown out of the window at the first hint of Asgardian.

She was hoping the jet came supplied with alcohol.

~.*.~

Manhattan, NYC

She could see why people dreamed of flying.

To be weightless for the time, to soar unaided above the rest of the world, to climb up into the sky in a rising crescendo of metal and flame. It was her solace- when something came up that she wanted off her mind, she would 'suit up' and ascend towards the heavens. They were insignificant underneath her; petty; futile. It was just a pity she was having to do it more and more these days.

The display flashed up, and JARVIS, ever the faithful servant, announced in a polite, monotonic voice that Pepper was calling. "Put her through then J," came the response.

"Hallie! Come down. I know what you're doing, so don't think you can just fly off to wherever you want. It's irresponsible, and you're going to get yourself killed."

"Mom. Stop. Just stay where you are, and stop worrying. I'll be back in two minutes- anyway, it isn't as if I'm going to kill myself when I fall. Dad designed a failsafe. And I, unlike some, can steer the thing."

"Sure thing, kiddo. Be safe. I know you, stubborn as Tony. Two minutes. Then I'm grounding you." The anger abated, and with that, the screen faded back into the typical in-flight displays.

The city below her flashed with advertisements, and screamed with the wail of sirens, car horns and the rumble of the subway. _The city that never sleeps: not bloody surprised with this racket._ The tower loomed on the horizon- after the assassination of her father, Tony Stark, they had sold the company, and most of the assets, except the tower. The upper floors had been half destroyed after the battle of Manhattan, two years prior to her birth. Her dad had fought to save the city, along with three others (and almost every cop, fireman and local defence practitioner, but they hardly mattered). Now she had taken up the position of the resident smartass, and more importantly, defender of New York. Because, let's face it, who else was there? The lightning guy, Thor, was hardly ever on Earth at all, Captain America went missing almost twenty years ago, and as for the Hulk, who was fairly pointless as far as she saw it, had disappeared off to god knows where.

She wondered if the Urban Legends were true, and there were other 'Avengers'- the internet was a great place to find conspiracy theories, government secrets, and other assorted bits of info the authorities would rather keep hidden. Her dad didn't pass on those hacking skills for her to sit around doing nothing with them.

Hallie stepped onto the platform, waiting as a huge chunk of machinery removed her suit, storing it underfoot for later. Almost immediately, she was greeted by a stricken Pepper who pulled her up into an embrace. She pulled back after a couple of seconds, allowing her daughter some space. It was evident Pepper had been crying; her face was flushed, hair unkempt, tear tracks lined her face. It was becoming more common, to see her like this. Tony's death had hit her hardest, it was written over everything she did. Pepper would spend hours at a time just staring at nothing. At least she had gotten over that now, instead doing the 'overprotective mother' staunch to her kids. Hallie tried to smile, in an attempt to reassure her. It failed, resulting in a lopsided grimace. She had never been the most socially adept of people.

An odd, abstract 'vworp' noise echoed through the room. JARVIS notified them. "Miss Hallie. I believe it is the organisation known as SHIELD, who would wish to speak to you."

Hallie gave out another exaggerated, drawn-out sigh. "Sure JARVIS. I seem to be popular today, huh? Put them on speaker."

A loud voice presented itself from out the speakers impregnated within the walls. "Miss Stark. We have sent over some files to your AI. We want you to give them a thorough look."

"JARVIS, show me." The room instantly filled with images, video clips and files, originating from the holographic projectors. "What would I want with these six misfit freaks? Apart from the three oldest. They are _hot as hell._"

The voice came back. "These are the next generation of the Avengers. A clone of Captain America, two Demi-Gods, the fourteen-year-old Hulk and-"

Hallie cut them off. "The two other kids. Tell me, the rumours about the additional members of the Avengers- the freelance archer and Government agent- they're true? So that's them. Or their kids."

Pissed off voice retorted. "Actually, both were agents from our organisation. They were forced to go into hiding after the battle, and were killed yesterday in an ambush. Someone at SHIELD talked. And your father, before you ask, was sworn to secrecy. We didn't want our two best operatives to be hunted down. When you work for an agency like ours, you make a lot of enemies."

"Why should I bother with you? You want the full set? Or just an autograph?"

"Stark. If you do this for us, then maybe we can let slide some information on the death of your dad." This provoked a hiss from the corner, where Pepper sat out of the way.

"Blackmail."

"Honest trading. Information for services."

"I'll hack you."

"There are no written or computer files on your Father, for that exact reason."

A third person broke in; "You are willing to manipulate a girl who isn't yet eighteen, so you can use her as a weapon? What sort of people are you!" It was evident the question was rhetorical, the prominent anger directed at a speaker.

"We are desperate people. These are dark times. A new threat sits on the horizon, and we need an answer to that threat. This danger, we believe, has taken the lives of almost all the primary carers of these 'misfit freaks.' Including yours. If you want to learn more, there's a safehouse on the northern outskirts of the city, but before you reach the suburbs. Dragon Firearms. Thirty minutes."

Hallie was oddly certain she had heard a speech that had been previously rehearsed. "You want my sister? Rosalie?"

"What's she gonna do, whack the bad guys with a lacrosse stick? Just you. Make sure you aren't followed. I hope this will be possible Miss Stark."

Before either Hallie or Pepper could protest, the phone call ended. Without waiting for permission, or for the desperate pleading of her mother, Hallie swept out of the room, commanding the AI to bring her the suit. Mark IV of her own making. Quickly, she scribbled a note down for her little sister.

_Going out in the suit. I'll be fine. Go party on your own, sucker._

_-H_

A bit mean? Nah.

She picked up a new arc reactor to fit into the hole in the suit. With a _click, _the device was implanted.

And without further fuss, Hallie suited up, and flew off. She didn't know it yet, but the next month would change the world.

~.*.~

**A/N: So, the scene is set. I hope you enjoyed it!**

**I should be updating, say once every four or five days? The delay because I have **_**tons**_** of GCSE coursework to get through… o.o**

**And I'd **_**love**_** to get a review! They make the updates much faster… so please, tell me what you think!**

**-Styx**


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